Eternal Concertino
by Paratle
Summary: Cast off into darkness, Bakura is then given what seems to be happiness - blooming flowers, infinite song, Ryou - and it is forever lasting.


_I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh and its characters. _

* * *

Abstruse darkness rushed up to meet me, settled around me, became one with me, was birthed from me.

And then there was the feeling of the darkness - how it infiltrated my nerves, seeped through my bones, reconstructed me from the inside.

It was very dark.

I wasn't quite sure where I was…who I was…what was going on…

But I knew indescribable sorrow that complimented the black and it hurt – I then had the urge to tear myself apart but relented – and this pain which numbed my pulse and caused the artificial night to sing would not quell despite my efforts at calming it.

The obsidian fog opened up to me then, pure whites causing blinding contrast but I dared not look away as a draft from the clearing blew in petals, snow in color, welcoming me inside. I felt life thaw within me and accepted, pushing my way through the dark into a stunning field of flowers.

The fog consumed itself behind me, leaving me standing in a quilt of flowered eternity, the fragrance, lovely, carried by a warm breeze over lulls of hills forever lasting. A sky of blue spread itself overhead, laced with white clouds which rivaled the blooms below, lazily making their way into infinity.

I sighed, looking out in admiration, and in the process of turning around to capture the entirety of the scene, I stopped for he was there.

"Bakura!"

My name was Bakura.

Memories stabbed haphazardly at every angle and the overwhelming despair that was my very essence made sense and I began to cry in that patchwork of beauty because he was Ryou and everything hurt so much. He simply smiled at me, a wide smile that reached his eyes and his cheeks were pink and his eyes shone, and he called my name once more softer. "Bakura." No way could I respond.

He took my hands into his own, my palms drenched in a newly formed sweat, and guided me out into the field without another word, humming a tune unfamiliar. The flowers danced in time with the song and it was a performance unforgettable.

His hair was teased by the wind, white strands flickering playfully, as he ran onward. I noticed that my hair remained tame, though – I wanted messy hair, too, hair that would dance. Playful hair. I tried to keep such juvenile jealousies out of my mind.

He stopped abruptly, spinning around once and then stilling to face me, all smile and bright-eyed. He was breathtaking. "Let's dance."

"…Here?"

He didn't respond and despite my resistance he grabbed my stiff arms and began to move. The flowers helped us along, the clouds reciting musical notes aged so long none would remember the tunes, and we danced. Ryou would giggle, "Faster!" and we would prance about the hills with the widest smiles, laughing loud and high, forgetting what 'getting tired' meant. But then he would whisper "Slow." and we would sober immediately, the sky a ballad and we a disaster.

We were silent. The flowers had long decayed and the sky had dimmed. Upon my fingertips, barely there, was the last flower retaining its purity, resonating throughout eternity. I cupped it in my hands with obvious care, gentle, daresay paternal. I stooped down and kissed its petals, loving.

It began to wither and I recoiled, the flower weaving out of my palm to make its way to its dead brethren. I looked away with shame while Ryou swiftly bent down, scooping it up before it could reach its apparent destination.

"Bakura, look." He smiled softly, raising his hands as life spread through the decay, reaching the tip of each petal, renewed. I blinked at the resentment that suddenly took hold of me, a boiling revulsion at his perfection, at how much I loved him. It was not okay to be so beautiful.

Death took hold of the flower, charcoal tainting the white, causing it to chip away. We watched as it was cast off in the breeze, cold – the light had noticeably left Ryou's eyes.

As the last speck of dust left his fingertips, he too began to disintegrate, ash taken by a frigid wind in a field of rot. He looked down at fingers no longer there, indifferent, back and forth to each hand, equally departing. It was when he looked up at me, frightened and unmoving, did he react. "Bakura," his voice wavering against what was now a howling gust. "Bakura, help me."

Tears welled in dull eyes, bloodshot, sunken. I was shaking now, hands twitching to reach for him but I couldn't. He shook his head roughly, bits of cinder flaking out of his hair no longer white, disappearing. "I've missed you so much," he started, tears now obvious streaks down his paled cheeks. "Haven't you missed me? I couldn't have been the only one." He looked up at me, eyes diluted, exhausted. I choked on anything I could have said, my gaze darting across the landscape grotesque. "Why won't you look at me?" He reached out only to be unable to, for his arms were a part of the wind, flesh long since turned into embers.

He collapsed onto the ground and screamed, the sound excruciating as it echoed against the thud of what once was. His cries only silenced when he was gone, ash dispersed in all directions, and the air settled as if he never existed.

I laid down, the scent of death not so bad, and cried. Flowers fell from the sky as if rain, mocking, and the fresh white soon faded into black and I wasn't too sure where I was or who I was or what was going on…

But I knew indescribable sorrow that complimented the black and it hurt – I then had the urge to tear myself apart but relented – and this pain which numbed my pulse and caused the artificial night to sing would not quell despite my efforts at calming it.

The obsidian fog opened up to me then, pure whites causing blinding contrast but I dared not look away as a draft from the clearing blew in petals, snow in color, welcoming me inside. I felt life thaw within me and accepted, pushing my way through the dark into a stunning field of flowers.

The fog consumed itself behind me, leaving me standing in a quilt of flowered eternity, the fragrance, lovely, carried by a warm breeze over lulls of hills forever lasting. A sky of blue spread itself overhead, laced with white clouds which rivaled the blooms below, lazily making their way into infinity.

I sighed, looking out in admiration, and in the process of turning around to capture the entirety of the scene, I stopped for he was there.

"Bakura!"

My name was Bakura.

And then I saw _true_ eternity, and began to weep.

* * *

_Author's Note  
_I have a headcanon that when Bakura sends a piece of himself into the RPG to spy on Yugi and the others during the final arc, he sent the piece of himself that had ever felt anything positive while anchored to the present day (love, admiration, passion, hope) specifically to prevent himself from getting distracted from the main task at hand, destructive revenge. That piece of his soul _was_ sent to the shadows, and this was my interpretation of its 'penalty game', an eternal concertino.  
yeah i make myself really sad everything i write is sad  
Heavily inspired by Cécile Chaminade's Concertinio for Flute and Piano.


End file.
